


Of Service

by Shoujiki_Ippen



Category: Sengoku Jidai | Sengoku Period RPF
Genre: Hero Worship, M/M, Masochism, not a plot point but this is a pederastic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:06:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoujiki_Ippen/pseuds/Shoujiki_Ippen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ranmaru lives to be of service to his lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empty_throne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_throne/gifts).



Ranmaru made his way down the long, covered pathway that connected the baths with the inner compound of the castle. The threat of rain that had loomed all day had finally come to fruition, the wind blowing so fiercely that the roof offered little protection from the downpour. Despite the speed of his steps, it wasn’t long before Ranmaru’s yukata was soaked, the freezing rain leeching the heat from his skin, still flushed from the bath. 

As he turned the corner into the palace’s inner chambers, he heard the familiar, too-loud laughter that accompanied the strange, guttural sounds of the barbarians’ language. There seemed to be more of them than were normally in residence, which likely meant the delegation had arrived early and Nobunaga-sama would be occupied well into the night. 

Ranmaru couldn’t help the sinking feeling that accompanied that realization. He tried to remind himself of his place, of the fact that he served -- or did not serve -- at Nobunaga-sama’s pleasure; however, there was no concealing the fact that there was not a single moment of any day when he did not long to be useful to his lord in whatever way he could. 

And it had been many nights since he had last had the honor of warming Nobunaga-sama’s bed.

Leaving a wet trail on the smooth wooden floors of the corridor, he made his way past the series of rooms occupied by the most trusted of Nobunaga-sama’s guards and advisors until he reached his own room. He quickly checked around him to make sure no one was in sight, then slipped out of his drenched yukata in a swift motion, gathering it in his arms and sliding the door open in an attempt to get inside as quickly possible. 

To his complete shock, not only was his lantern lit and brazier burning strongly, but there, in the center of his small, modest room, sat Nobunaga-sama, one of the barbarians’ books in hand. The yukata fell out of Ranmaru’s hands, landing on the floor with a wet plop that echoed in the silence of the room. He, himself followed a split second later, falling to his knees and pressing his forehead to the tatami in a familiar gesture of submission, reserved only for his lord and only when they were alone.

“So eager that you disrobe even before entering the room?” Nobunaga-sama chuckled, his voice low and thick with drink. 

“The rainfall is intense, my lord,” Ranmaru explained, his posture unchanged , “I did not wish to track in any more water than necessary.”

After what seemed an endless pause, Nobunaga-sama finally spoke. “Well, if you leave it there much longer, I assure you the tatami will most certainly be soaked through.” 

It only with the greatest of control that Ranmaru remained still. The condition of his room was secondary to his obedience to Nobunaga-sama, and he would not move until given permission to do so. 

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was that of the rain pounding into the ceiling and walls, accompanied by the sound of Ranmaru’s shallow breathing. He focused on the feel of the cool reeds firm underneath his knees, hands, and forehead

”Go on, then ... we do not wish to trouble the servants,” Nobunaga-sama finally acquiesced, although most assuredly for his own convenience rather than that of the servants. He did not, after all, make a habit of lounging about in Ranmaru’s room with no purpose in mind, particularly not when there were guests.

Ranmaru was on his feet in an instant, picking up the sodden garment, crossing to the basket on the other side of the room and dropping it in before opening up his closet to pull out a fresh, dry yukata.

“There will be no need for that,” Nobunaga-sama stated--- 

“Come here.”

Ranmaru could not help the sharp intake of breath the command elicited. He was fully nude, having foregone donning fundoshi in anticipation of being completely rain-soaked by the time he made his way back from the baths. And while he was accustomed to and reveled in Nobunaga-sama’s gaze on his nakedness, it was a rare case indeed for it to occur so unexpectedly.

In short, Ranmaru was not at all prepared to be faced with the full power of Nobunaga-sama’s desire, clear and unmasked as he turned to face his lord. His was also not prepared for the way his body responded, his own desire kindling within him so quickly he felt he should perhaps be ashamed. Nobunaga-sama, however, had always reveled in his enthusiasm, so there was no need to hide it.

Ranmaru crossed the room, kneeling before his lord and bowing before him, hands positioned perfectly in front of him as he once again pressed his forehead to the tatami. An involuntary shudder of delight wracked his body at the feel of Nobunaga-sama’s hand caressing his head, fingers first carding through his damp hair, then flexing to drag sharp nails harshly against the sensitive skin of Ranmaru’s scalp.

His lord was not a gentle lover, particularly after he had been drinking. Ranmaru had been warned as such -- by others who had served him in this way -- the first time he had gone to his lord’s bed so many years ago. But despite the great respect he had for his seniors, Ranmaru secretly, in the most hidden parts of himself, believed that none of them had loved Nobunaga-sama as deeply as he did. If they had, after all, they would have realized that their comfort was secondary to their lord’s pleasure. They would have made their lord’s pleasure their own.

Just as Ranmaru had.

The fingers in his hair tightened, grasping onto the long strands and pulling him up, and as he came face to face with Nobunaga-sama, he thought for the ten thousandth time how fortune had blessed him with the opportunity to serve such a master. Beyond simply being chosen to attend to a man of Nobunaga-sama’s stature -- which would have been more than enough for someone such as himself -- Ranmaru was bearing witness to his master building a revolution that would better the lives of each and every person in the land. And beyond just that, he was there to be of service to Nobunaga-sama … to provide whatever he may need. 

And if it was pleasure that his lord required ... for Ranmaru, serving in that capacity was not a duty, but a privilege. A pleasure, unlike any other. 

The weight of Nobunaga-sama’s body against his own, pressing him against the tatami was exactly what he had been longing for these last weeks. With a heavy rustle of fabric, hakama untied and kimono shoved aside, Nobunaga-sama’s arousal was revealed, the hard length standing at attention, ready to claim what was his. He entered with no little effort, the tightness of Ranmaru’s unprepared body an obstacle to be overcome through the determination and sheer force of will that Ranmaru admired so much in his lord. 

The feel of Nobunaga-sama’s length forcing him open was blissful torment. Every movement, every thrust forward and retreat back sparked searing pain that brought tears of delicious agony to Ranmaru’s eyes, spilling down his cheeks as his lord found his rhythm and began to pound into him, breath hot against the shell of his ear. It was this exactly this that Ranmaru had craved so desperately -- this exact sensation that he had longed for in the days he’d spent away from the castle on expeditions, or alone in his room while Nobunaga-sama dealt with affairs of state. He had hungered for the feel of Nobunaga-sama on top of him, his body used as the ultimate vessel for his lord’s pleasure. 

And that pleasure came too fast, the pace of Nobunaga-sama’s thrusts quickening, speeding toward the inevitable end. It had been so long since Ranmaru had been of use in this way that he wished he could somehow prolong the feel of Nobunaga-sama inside him, but he was quickly swept away, his lord’s climax crashing over him, the pain of their coupling transmuting into the most sublime bliss Ranmaru had ever felt. 

It was like this every time. Every time he was used in this way, Ranmaru could not help but caught up and swept away in the wake of his Nobunaga-sama’s pleasure. At the warmth of his lord’s pleasure within him, his hand reflexively darted between them, trying to shield the fine fabrics of Nobunaga-sama’s clothing against his own, answering release.

The period of time he spent lying drained with the heavy weight of the most important person in the universe lying on top of him was much too short. It seemed mere moments before Nobunaga-sama drew himself upright and set about righting the disarray of his clothing.

“As much as would enjoy the pleasure of your company this evening,” Nobunaga stated as he fastened the last ties of his hakama and rose to his feet, “I am afraid I must return to the barbarians.” 

Ranmaru scrambled to his knees, the sharp, familiar ache blossoming deep inside him as he bowed to press his forehead to the floor at his lord’s feet. “I pray that you will influence their hearts, as well as their minds, my lord.”

“We shall see,” Nobunaga-sama replied, the slightest hint of levity in his voice. “But if the gods are willing -- and the drink is strong – this evening may not be quite as long as I fear.”

And as his face was pressed to the tatami, hidden from Nobunaga-sama’s view, Ranmaru did not bother to hide the smile that thought elicited. 


End file.
